


Suddenly (Insta)Famous!

by Cecilia1204



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Did I mention Jaime is a little shit?, F/M, Humour, Jaime & Sandor friendship, Jaime is a shit, Modern AU, Pining, Romance, Sandor wearing nothing but a towel, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-17 22:35:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11278167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cecilia1204/pseuds/Cecilia1204
Summary: Sick of watching his friend Sandor pining over a certain redhead, convinced no woman would want him, Jaime sets up a fake Instagram account in Sandor's name to prove he is desirable to women.  He never thought it would be this popular!





	Suddenly (Insta)Famous!

**Author's Note:**

> This story came out of a Tumblr thread about in what circumstances Sandor would have an Instagram account. I came up with this headcannon about Jaime setting up a fake one and the consequences of that. I was encouraged to write a fic about it by the lovely Sansan/Sandor fans. I've been a writing rut (which is why I haven't updated my other fic) so I hoping this will kick start the muses again. 
> 
> It turned out mainly into a Jaime/Sandor friendship fic with a heavy dose of Sansan!
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!

“Why don’t you just ask her out?”

Sandor Clegane dragged his eyes from the gorgeous redhead that was playing pool with her sister and reluctantly laid them on his drinking partner, Jaime Lannister.  Taking another sip of his stout, he snorted in derision as he shook his head.  “Like she would go out with someone like me.  I’m not into masochism.”

Jaime Lannister, living embodiment of the nasty Prince Charming from Shrek (albeit without the evil streak, according to most) sighed theatrically.  “Why wouldn’t she?  You make a good living, are built like a brick shithouse and I know you have the goods where it counts,” he smirked.  “I’ve been in the gym change room enough to confirm it if she asks.”

“Fuck off, you pervert,” snorted Sandor.  “Quit ogling me in the showers.  You fancy me or something?”

“Not likely!  Just think you stand a decent chance with Sansa Stark if you'd just get off your arse and ask her out.  She always says hello when she sees you.  It’s not like she doesn’t look at you a lot, you know.”

“She’s just polite.  Always minding her manners, that one, even if she’s probably horrified by this mug of mine,” replied Sandor, somewhat morosely.  “Why else would a beauty like her look at me?”

“Because she fancies you?”  Another derisive snort.  “Seriously, Sandor.  It’s not like it’s _that_ bad, not after all those surgeries.  I bet other women would think the same,” insisted Jaime. 

“In what fantasy are you living?”

“If you set up an Instagram account and posted pics of yourself, I think you’d see it’s not as bad as you think.”

Sandor turned a baleful eye on Jaime.  “What a crock of shite!  That social media stuff is just bullshit.  It’s so people can boast to others what a ‘great’ life they have so other’s can feel jealous.  No way I’m getting involved in that.”  He pulled out his phone and put it on the table.  “Don’t think my trusty Nokia 3310 supports any of that crap, anyway.”

Jaime gaped as he picked up the ancient relic.  “This belongs in a museum.  I didn’t think any existed anymore.  Don’t you think it’s time to enter the 21st century and get a decent phone?”

Plucking the phone from Jaime’s hand, Sandor looked at it fondly before putting it back in his pocket.  “It does what I need it to do – make and receive calls and texts.  Don’t need any of that other crap.”

“And you run a successful business with ancient technology.  How?”

“I have modern technology at work,” replied Sandor, a little defensively.  “It’s a gym, arsehole.  Not much technology needed other than to run the admin side of it and I leave that to Greyworm.  Not much of a talker but he knows what he’s doing.”

“Yeah, cause you’re such a chatterer,” laughed Jaime.

“Exactly.”

Jamie pulled out his phone and opened his Instagram page.  “Yes!  Twenty new followers in the last few hours.  Should reach two thousand in the next few days,” he grinned.

“Why the fuck would anyone follow you?” asked Sandor.  “You’re an empty-headed, ego-maniac.”

“I know, but I’m just so pretty with it,” laughed Jaime, not in the least bit offended.  If anything, he considered it a compliment.  “I’ll have to post more semi-naked shots, I think.  That will bump up my followers, for sure.”

“Let me look at that,” demanded Sandor, reaching for Jaime’s phone.

Sure enough, Jaime’s profile pic was of him at the beach, wind artfully blowing through his blond locks, his killer smile on show.   Then he saw Jaime’s Instagram name.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!  **‘sexy_golden_lion’**?  Really?  ‘Hear me roar’?.  Seven hells, you’re even more of a pretentious twat than I thought.” 

“What?  It’s a good name.  That’s what I am, after all,” insisted Jaime.  “I’m sexy, I’m golden and the lion is our family symbol.   What would you call your account?”

“Since I’m never going to get one, who gives a shit?” 

From the corner of his eye, Sandor watched as Sansa and her friends finished playing and moved to a table for a drink.  He sighed internally.  Despite what the idiot said, she’d never go out with him. 

Finishing off his stout, he prepared to leave.  He had an inspector coming to the gym in the morning and he wanted to be alert, not nursing a hangover, which often happened when out with Jaime.

It was an unusual friendship, to say the least.  Sandor used to work as a bodyguard for Jaime’s father before setting up his own gym.   Jaime, despite his flirty, flighty ways, was in advertising and had offered to help advertise the gym, in exchange for free membership.  Sandor had always thought of Jaime as an egotistical cunt, and he _was_ , but they had forged a friendship whilst working together.  And Jaime was kind, in his own way.  When not loving the crap out of himself. 

Though there were times when Sandor wondered, ‘with friends like these…’

With a last, longing look at the object of his desire, who was smiling at something her sister’s boyfriend said, he said his goodbyes and left.

Jaime watched Sansa’s eyes follow Sandor all the way out of the Dragon’s Den, lingering on his friend’s well-shaped behind.  Jaime was straight, but even _he_ could admire Sandor’s body for the magnificent specimen it was.

 _Oh yeah, she wants him_ , he thought.  If Sandor weren’t so hung up on the scars on his face, thinking they were uglier than they actually were, he’d have the guts to ask the pretty redhead out. 

His phone pinged, notifying him of another new Instagram follower and an idea came to him. 

It was underhanded.

It was sneaky

It was probably immoral.

It might even be illegal.

Setting up an Instagram account for Sandor might be the best idea he’s ever had.  Jaime was in advertising.  This was a form of advertising, wasn’t it? 

Poor guy might only get a few followers, but he’d make sure Sansa found out about the account.  

He just had to make sure Sandor didn’t, or he’d probably have to leave the country.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

_Ping!_

Jaime looked at his phone during a break in the boring work meeting he was forced to attend by his brother, Tyrion.  They were discussing taking on a few more creative staff and he had no idea why _he_ had to be there.  Wasn’t this a HR thing?  So what if his father owned the company, and he had a major share in it.  He liked the creative part of advertising, as well as the schmoozing, if he was honest.  The boring stuff he left to his brother and father.  At least when they let him.

Expecting to see another follower – he was _this_ close to two thousand -  he had to sit down when he realised it was Sandor’s account that had pinged.

After the pub, Jaime went home and set up Sandor’s fake account.  He named it ‘The_Hound’, after the man’s nickname during his bodyguard days.  Jaime figured it gave Sandor a more dangerous edge, not that the man needed it in real life.  Sandor could crush him with one hand.  He was huge!  But he had mellowed in the last few years since he’d had the gym.  As a bodyguard, he was fearsome.  Jaime had actually seen grown men piss themselves when threatened by Sandor ‘The Hound’ Clegane. 

Jaime knew Sandor had had a shit childhood and had carried a lot of anger - useful as a bodyguard - but the gym had been an outlet to help work through a lot of that stuff.  Unbeknownst to many, he was often helping underprivileged kids in the area, trying to help them find an outlet for their own issues.  Sandor would take no credit or praise for it and made sure his good deeds weren’t publicised.  Jaime really thought that was a mistake, but he wouldn’t dare betray Sandor’s trust about his charity work.

Unlike setting up a fake Instagram account in Sandor’s name.

Luckily, he had a number of photos of Sandor on his phone from their time at the gym, so he used a cropped one of Sandor working out, pecs and biceps bulging, as the profile pic.  His face wasn’t visible.  Jaime figured he’d work up to that.

The account had been running for a week now and followers had been few for the first three days.  He’d mainly posted pictures of Sandor working out, leaving his face out.  Jaime figured it would add to the mystery.

They’d gone to lunch and he’d snuck a photo of Sandor patting a passing dog.  There was a sneaky shot of Sandor opening the door to the men’s room.  After the third day, Jamie had included the bottom half of Sandor’s face, his heavy stubble sporting froth from the ale he’d been drinking.  That picture earned him a few more followers.

It was at this point that Jaime ‘casually’ ran into Sansa at the Dragon’s Den during his lunch break.  She worked at a small publishing house not far from the pub and was known to frequent there for a pub lunch at least once a week.  He knew Sansa from when she had briefly dated his little prick of a nephew, Joffrey.  Despite the couple’s acrimonious break-up, Jaime had stayed friendly with her.

Casually sliding up next to her as she waited to order, Jaime raised his eyebrows in fake surprise as he looked at his phone.  “Well, look at that!”

After greeting him, Sansa asked what was the matter. 

“I would never have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes!” he exclaimed, eyes wide.

“What?”

“Looks like Sandor’s opened an Instagram account.  He seemed so adamantly against it too.  He never told me, so probably didn’t want anyone to know.  I’m just lucky I found it,” explained Jaime, watching her take the bait:  hook, line and sinker.

“Show me,” she demanded, grabbing his phone, eyes widening in appreciation as she took in his biceps.  “Wow, he looks good.  Here, I have to follow him too,” she said as she gave him back the phone. Without another word, Sansa opened up her Instagram page and within moments was following ‘The_Hound’.

Jaime smirked to himself as she forgot all about him, absent-mindedly ordering her lunch and walking off to an empty table, staring at her phone.

He mentally high-fived himself.  Sansa Stark was going to stalk Sandor’s account.  Too bad the man himself knew nothing about it.

Then yesterday, Jaime had scored the best photo yet.  While walking into the gym showers after working out, he saw Sandor step out of one of the cubicles, dripping wet and wearing only a short white towel.

Unaware there was anyone else in the change room, Sandor meandered casually to his locker, drying himself slowly with another towel.

Jaime took this opportunity to sneakily snap a few shots of Sandor.  These would make perfect Instagram posts!  He hid his phone just as Sandor turned his head and nodded a greeting.  Though he wanted to go home to post a photo, he couldn’t turn down Sandor’s offer of a quiet drink at the Dragon’s Den.   Sandor couldn’t hide his disappointment when he realised Sansa wasn’t there, so Jaime took pity and stayed longer than he’d planned.

Once back at his apartment, he scrolled through the pics until he found the perfect one.  Sandor was in profile, holding a towel to his eight-pack abs, his biceps bulging.  The towel around his waist was short enough that it only just covered the crown jewels, a suggestive lump in the material hinting at the treasure within.  He’d managed to capture the droplets clinging to his chest hair and the ends of his longish hair. 

Jaime grinned to himself as he cropped it and made it black and white, giving it a sexier look as well as softening the scars, which were completely visible for the first time, before posting it with the hashtags:   **#manly #hot #showerthoughts #doyouwantalick?.**

He’d slept in this morning and had rushed out without checking Sandor’s account and was only now looking at it.  And nearly fainting.

Overnight, Sandor’s followers had swelled from fifteen (including Sansa) to a staggering 1500!  And it was steadily rising, even as he looked at it.  He’d reach 2000, if not more, by the end of the day.

There were nearly six hundred comments, the majority from females, though there were a number from males too.  And almost to a person, they were all suggestive.

_‘Oh baby, I’ll lick that body anytime’_

_‘Mmm, I need a cold shower’_

_‘Let me dry you, Hound, with my tongue!’_

_‘I’ll let you ravage me, Hound’_

Jaime nearly blushed reading some of them.  If only Sandor could see this!  He’d have no doubt that women wanted him.  He wondered what Sansa thought about all this attention.

By the time he left that afternoon, Sandor’s followers numbered nearly 5000.  Jaime couldn’t help feeling a little jealous.  I mean, look at himself.  He was gorgeous!  He definitely needed a semi-nude shot.

He had just heated up some Chinese he’d bought when he received a message from Sandor asking to meet him at the Dragon’s Den as weird shit was happening to him.

As he entered the pub, he saw a woman giggling at the perplexed look on Sandor’s face before she walked away.

“What was that about?” he asked.

“Fucked if I know,” replied Sandor, shaking his head.  ‘That’s the sixth time today some random woman has made a pass at me.  Are they blind?”

“So, what’s the problem?  Women make passes at me all the time,” chuckled Jaime. 

“But you’re a manwhore.  It’s expected,” quipped Sandor.

“Well, when you look like me…Anyway, what’s the big deal?  Tempted to take up any offers?”

Sandor snorted and took a swig of stout.  “I’ll admit it’s been a while, but I’m over that one-night stand shit.”  He looked morosely down at his drink.

“Ahh, you’re pining for a certain redhead you’re too scared to ask out, aren’t you?” Jaime grinned.

“Not pining,” came the murmured reply.

“Uhm, excuse me.  Sandor?”

Jaime had never seen a person move as fast as Sandor did when he swivelled his head at the sound of Sansa’s voice.  His eyes widened in near panic and a faint blush suffused his face.

Sandor ‘The Hound’ Clegane blushing in Sansa Stark’s presence!  If Jaime hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he’d never believe it.

“Ahh, um, err… yeah?” stammered Sandor, swallowing loudly.

Sansa smiled at him, nervously pushing a strand of fiery red hair behind her ear.  “Can I sit down?  I…I wanted to ask you…something.”

Sandor’s mouth flapped open and shut in surprise, so Jaime felt it prudent to intervene.  “Of course, Sansa!  Would you like something to drink?”

“Oh, no, that’s ok, Jaime.  Thanks for asking, though.”

Becoming aware he was acting like a moron, Sandor cleared his throat and turned to Sansa, trying not stare at her stunning blue eyes, though it was a herculean effort.  “W-what was it you wanted to ask me?”

Sansa blushed.  “Well, um, I know you run a gym and I, um, was thinking I could do with some toning up, so, um, I was wondering if you could, um, help me?”

Sandor couldn’t help running his eyes over Sansa’s figure.  “You look pretty perfect to me,” he blurted out.  _Shit!_   Taking another swig, he attempted to pull his foot out of his mouth.  “I mean, ah, you don’t look as if you need much help.”

“Oh, but it’s always good to be fit, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah, it sure is.  Well, um, I’d be happy to work with you, see what areas you need help with.  Draw up a training schedule and all that.”

Sansa beamed at him and Sandor was like a deer caught in headlights.  He missed the first part of what she said.  “…tomorrow after work be alright?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he replied.  He’d have to ask Jaime what he’d agreed to when she left.

“Thank you, Sandor.”  She laid her hand on his forearm and he felt the burn all the way down to his loins.  “I really appreciate this.”  Grabbing her bag, Sansa made to stand.

Seeing Sandor’s brain had plummeted south, Jaime asked if she want to hang around for a bit.  “Thanks, but I’ve got to get to Arya’s in time for dinner.  I’m sure Gendry’s the one that actually cooks, but I let her think I don’t know that,” she laughed.  “Bye Jaime.  Bye Sandor.  I’ll see you tomorrow?”

He nodded.  “Sure thing.  I’ll look forward…I mean, I’ll see you then.”  With a last wave, Sansa walked out of the pub and Sandor flopped his head onto the table, nearly knocking Jaime’s beer over.

“Fuck!  Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he groaned.  “Fuck!”

“What’s wrong with you?  Can’t you tell she wants you?  You should be doing cartwheels, man!” replied Jaime.

“I acted like a complete moron.  She probably thinks I’m a complete meathead who can barely string two sentences together.”

“Bullshit!  This is your opportunity, man.  Just think – she’ll probably need hands-on help with the equipment.  Lots of interaction, if you know what I mean,” he grinned suggestively, wriggling his eyebrows.

“I’m not a pervert, you pervert!  I run a professional gym and I don’t tolerate harassment of women there.  I’ve kicked a few bastards out for harassing other female patrons.”

“It’s not harassment if she touches first, is it?”  At Sandor’s look, he continued.  “Look, all I’m saying is, if she shows you she wouldn’t be averse to some more ‘personal’ attention, don’t pass up the opportunity.  I saw the way she looked at you, while you were in your fugue state.”

“Fuck, she’ll probably wear tight gym wear,” groaned Sandor.  “How do I keep from getting a fucking hard-on with her around?  Huh?”

Jaime burst out laughing.  “There’s worse problems in life, Sandor, my friend.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Over the next week, Sandor’s Instagram followers rose to an absurd number.  He was even getting offers to have him promote products on the site.  As an advertiser, this was a dream scenario for Jaime.

Too bad it wasn’t really his account.

Though he was tempted to accept some of them, he couldn’t see a way to con Sandor into getting a fake tan. 

He’d created a monster that was rapidly growing out of control.

They met up a few days after Sansa started going to Sandor’s gym and Jaime couldn’t resist goading him about it.

“Have you embarrassed yourself yet?” he chuckled.

Sandor shook his head.  “Not yet, but having to think about Gregor fucking your sister is doing my head in.”

“Ewww!”

“Exactly.”

“And…has anything happened?”

Sandor shook his head  “Nah.  She’s sweet as anything, and likes to chirp while working out, but it’s been strictly professional.”

“You sure?  No sneaky touches?  Flicking her hair?  Finding excuses to stay back?  Anything?”

“Well, she does that, but it means nothing.  She’s just very friendly,” countered Sandor.

“For fuck’s sake, you numbskull!  How much more obvious does the girl need to be to get it through your thick skull?  I’m beginning to think you really _are_ a meathead – all brawn and no brains.”

“Piss off.”

“Ask her out for coffee.  See what she says.  At least you’re in regular contact now, so it won’t seem weird or stalkery.  If you don’t, someone else will,” Jaime warned.

“I’ll…think about it.”

There was a lull in the conversation as Sandor brooded. 

“Anything else going on with you?” asked Jaime carefully.  He was living on tenterhooks that someone would spill the beans about ‘Sandor's’ Instagram account.

“I’m still getting women, and a few guys, hitting on me.  I was at the bank the other day, and the teller stared at me for ages before asking if I wanted to go to dinner with her.”

“What did you say?”

“I asked her why?  She said some shit about finding me adorable and she wanted see my muscles with her own eyes,” replied a puzzled Sandor.  “I don’t know what’s going on with women.  I go for years and all I get are horrified looks and all of a sudden, I’m getting hit on left, right and centre!”

Jaime burst out laughing.  “I don’t know many men that would be complaining.”

“You know who I really want.”

“And you won’t do anything about it.”  Jaime shook his head.  “Send some of those my way.  I won’t say no.”

“Even the seventy-year-old woman who stopped me in the street and told me she’d bite my rock-hard arse if she didn’t have to take her false teeth out first?”

This time, Jaime’s drink ended up sprayed all over Sandor, much to his disgust.  “Err, yeah, ok.  I’ll pass on that one.”

“Thought you would,” grinned Sandor.  “I don’t get it.  It’s becoming a bit annoying, to be honest.  Even at work.  I’ve had a record number of sign ups this week.  99% women.  I’m thinking I might have to employ a couple more instructors.  That is if they stay.  Which I doubt because they spent more time flirting with me than actually working out.”

“Only you would complain,” chuckled Jaime. 

* * * * * * * * * * *

Jamie continued posting Sandor pictures and the follower count kept growing.  He was growing increasingly worried that Sandor would find out about the account.  The risk grew with each new follower.

He didn’t even want to think about Sandor’s reaction.  He’d mellowed a lot since his bodyguard days but he still had a temper.  He could do some damage.

And what a tragedy it would be if his perfect face and body was marred in some way!

He decided to give it a couple more weeks and he would close the account.  With any luck, Sandor will have grown the balls to ask Sansa out.  He wondered what she thought about it.  He was wary of asking her in public in case anyone, or even worse, Sandor, accidentally overhead them.  She, herself, had no idea it wasn’t really Sandor’s account and there was the real possibility that she would be the one to spill the beans.

Jaime wondered if his passport was up-to-date.

The following Friday saw him sitting with Sandor and another friend, Bronn at the Dragon’s Den enjoying a meal.

Sansa walked in with a couple of girlfriends and made a beeline for their table.

“Oh, hey, Sandor!  I was just tell Margaery and Brienne here about how great my arms and abs were looking since you started working on me,” gushed Sansa.  Sandor choked on his beer at her choice of words.  Sansa seemed to realise what she’d said when her friends began giggling and blushed a lovely hue of scarlet.  “I mean, with me.”

“You’ve worked hard.  You deserve it,” replied Sandor, gazing up at her, a stupid, love-struck look on his face. 

Jaime wondered how two such smart people could be such idiots.  They were lost in each other’s eyes, oblivious to the rest of them until he cleared his throat noisily.  They both jumped and returned to the real world.  “Would you ladies like to join us?” he asked, seeing as Sandor wouldn’t.

Sansa looked at her friends, a pretty brunette and the tallest woman he’d ever seen with the most amazing blue eyes.  They shrugged as if they didn’t mind either way, so the three joined them at the round table, Sansa making the introductions and making sure she sat next to Sandor, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by Jaime.

He was sitting next to the tall woman, Brienne, and was having an interesting conversation with her when they were interrupted by a loud, nasally voice.

A woman, probably in her thirties and already with a few wines in her, had sidled up to Sandor.  Placing a hand on his shoulder, she leaned down so her low-cut top left nothing to the imagination and her cloying perfume wafted over the table. 

“Oh my, it’s The Hound!  Honey, my dreams have come true!” she cried.

Sandor pulled away from her touch, a look of disgust on his face.  “Do I know you?”

“No, but I certainly know _you_ , darling.  I use you as my personal aphrodisiac, if you get my drift,” she smirked, raising an eyebrow suggestively.  “I was wondering if I could get you a drink, or _anything_ else you’d like.”

“Look, lady, I’m with friends and I don’t you know you and I certainly don’t want to get to know you.  And exactly how do you know me, anyway?”

The woman pouted, probably thinking she looked adorable.  Jaime was watching the unfolding train wreck with a sense of impending doom.

As she opened her mouth to talk, Sansa spoke up angrily.  “Listen, you.  Just go away before you regret it.  Sandor’s taken.”  The green-eyed monster was ready to do some damage.

“I am?” muttered an astonished Sandor.

“And I don’t share,” snapped Sansa before grabbing Sandor’s face on the scarred side and pulling him to her, kissing him passionately.

Sandor froze for a split-second before wrapping his arms around her and practically lifting her onto his lap as he returned the kiss with interest.

The woman was clear-headed enough to know that this wasn’t worth pursuing and slunk off, leaving four bewildered people at the table, watching Sandor and Sansa practically eating each other up.  This was getting almost pornographic.

Finally, they realised that they still needed air to survive and came up for breath, dishevelled and panting as they looked at their bemused friends then back at each other.

Jaime wondered briefly if they would perform an indecent act right here in public, the way they were looking at each other.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” asked Sandor huskily.

Sansa nodded eagerly, grabbing her bag and smiling apologetically at her friends.  “Uh, um, I’m sorry guys, but…”

Margaery, a naughty twinkle in her eye, waved her apology away.  “Go!  I’m sure these lovely gentlemen will keep us company.  Won’t you?”  she addressed her question to Bronn who was looking like he’d won the lottery.  He nodded eagerly.

Jaime grinned.  “Have fun, kids.  Make sure you practice safe sex!”

Sansa blushed, giggling, while Sandor stuck his middle finger up at him, but didn’t waste any time ushering the giddy redhead out of the pub, his arm locked securely around her waist.

Jaime somehow doubted they’d make it back to either of their homes in time.  Luckily, Sandor drove a great, big vehicle, with plenty of room in the back.  

Now, to discover more about this Brienne, who was fascinating in her own way…

* * * * * * * * * * *

It was 10.00am the next morning when Jaime received the text.

_YOU FUCKER!!!  WHEN I FIND YOU, YOU ARE GOING TO WISH YOU’D NEVER BEEN BORN!  SAY GOODBYE TO THAT PRETTY FACE BECAUSE I’LL LOOK LIKE A SUPERMODEL COMPARED TO YOU AFTER I FINISH WITH YOU!  TAKE IT DOWN, NOW, ARSEWIPE!_

Shit!

Fuck!

Double fuck!

I’m a dead man, triple fuck!

Jaime was mentally calculating where was the furthest on the planet he could possibly hide for the next couple of hundred years or so, when another text came through from Sansa.

_Jamie, Sandor’s pretty pissed off with you.  I would be too, tbh.  Sandor’s ready to kill but I’ll distract him *wink wink* for as long as I can, to give you a head start.  He’ll calm down eventually, I’m sure, but I’d steer clear for a while.  Oh, and take the account down._

_PS, thanks for the shower shot_ _:)_ _.  I saved that one!_

He figured that after last night, there was nothing left to the imagination for those two.

Now, how much time did he have and where could he hide?

Still, it was a damned shame to lose all those followers

Jaime sighed and started packing.

 


End file.
